


Knot Exactly Shipshape

by ominousrum



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, borderline crackfic? who's to say, post-wedding fluff, with a bad pun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-15
Updated: 2017-09-15
Packaged: 2019-02-14 12:19:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13007634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ominousrum/pseuds/ominousrum
Summary: There were a few things Emma Swan knew for certain that she could never see changing. Olives were disgusting, the Bug’s radio would only ever play a soft rock station she absolutely hated, she could always guess the answers to the daily Jumble in less than a minute, and her husband was possibly the cleanest man on the planet.





	Knot Exactly Shipshape

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my lovely fandom friends/enablers who support this kind of nonsense.

There were a few things Emma Swan knew for certain that she could never see changing. Olives were disgusting, the Bug’s radio would only ever play a soft rock station she absolutely hated, she could always guess the answers to the daily Jumble in less than a minute, and her husband was possibly the cleanest man on the planet.

Well, the cleanest man on the planet at least in terms of how he treated his living spaces. Emma let her lip curl at the thought that in a lot of other ways her pirate was as filthy as they come. The Jolly Roger, however, and their new home were always immaculate if Killian had anything to say about it. 

Not to say Emma wasn’t tidy – she’d had to keep things as neat as she could muster bouncing from foster home to foster home – it’s just that clearly Killian’s royal navy training put her mostly organized chaos to shame.

She let him have free reign with the house, apart from her bedside table, her half of the bathroom sink, and her ever-expanding space in their large closet. The communal areas she was happy enough to let him structure and fuss over while Henry and her exchanged amused glances over their video game controllers.

Spring finally arrives and isn’t merely a slightly less bone-chilling shade of winter, so Killian suggests they take an extended holiday; a proper honeymoon, letting the Jolly serve as their home. Emma happily agrees, tucking away the names and addresses of a few bed and breakfasts and seedy motels along their proposed route for the luxury of the occasional shower.

Day three of their trip, Emma yawns into a distinctly cool pillow where Killian’s head should be as the sunlight streams onto her face. A note with sprawling writing meets her open eye – _Off in search of breakfast. Back soon, love._

Her mind wanders to every time they had the best intentions of eating breakfast and ended up sating their appetite for other things. Far less frequent than she’d like, what with unexpected guests and occasional monsters turning up as unwelcome distractions.

The Jolly is comforting, like a well-worn leather jacket. Familiar as though it’s always been there, an extension of the waves themselves. Emma wriggled her toes on the cold floor, thin satin nightgown failing to keep her skin from prickling. Maybe she’d curl back up with a book, if she found anything that piqued her interest. She really needed to find them a copy of the Kama Sutra, though she wagered her pirate likely knew most of those particular acrobatics anyway.

One look at the light catching a silvery corner near the bookshelf and Emma jumped, a yelp escaping her throat.

“What the fuck?!”

“Swan?” Killian entered the room to find his wife holding one of his boots aloft, nothing less than murder in her eyes.

“How did a spider even get _in_ here?”

“Spider?”

“That giant thing in the corner,” Emma hissed, “I mean, maybe it rowed itself – it’s certainly big enough.”

Killian’s confusion gave way to an amused grin. “Ah, you mean Annabella.”

_“Annabella?”_

“Aye, love. She’s been here for centuries. Well, at least I think it’s the same one, hard to tell with spiders.” Killian set a paper bag with a faint smell of bacon emanating from it on the small wooden table, smiling in the spider’s direction.

“How the hell have I never noticed it before?” Emma demanded, boot only slightly lowered once learning it had a name.

“She doesn’t make herself known very often. Belle said she never even caught a glimpse while she was here.”

“So what, you just let her hang out here as an honourary pirate?” Emma narrowed her eyes at the interloper.

“Too right I do. In some ways she makes a better first mate than Smee,” Killian quipped. “Besides it’s bad luck to sweep a spider from their home.”

She couldn’t believe it. Her neat freak husband was perfectly content to let webs laden with dust and a spider the size of a kitten just chill inside his immaculately kept captain’s quarters.

Emma sighed. “Right. You know, you seafaring folk are too superstitious for your own good sometimes.”

Killan moved to wind an arm around her waist, face nuzzling her hair. “I didn’t know you had an issue with spiders, love.”

Emma rolled her eyes but let the boot fall from her hand when her husband’s lips found her neck. “I don’t! They just unnerve me ever since one tried to make me its dinner.”

“Come again?” He momentarily stopped tracing a trail of kisses across her collarbone to cock a quizzical eyebrow in her direction.

“The Black Fairy,” Emma gave a half-hearted shrug, distracted by Killian behind her, “honestly I’d rather forget it ever happened.”

Killian wound his hand in her hair and straightened. “If her presence really bothers you love, I can find a way to contain her somewhere.”

It wasn’t a conversation she ever envisioned having but somehow his willingness to displace a creature who was practically a part of the Jolly Roger brought a warm bloom to her chest. Happiness was a strange, strange beast.

“She can stay. As long as you promise I’m not going to wake up covered in bites…”

“Well, I daresay you won’t have any from the spider,” Killian purred, gathering her up in his arms.


End file.
